Sunday, May 6, 2012

For those fortunate enough to have glimpsed my batshit insane (read: hopelessly sleep-deprived) Facebookery as of late, you are likely all too aware of the endeavor that consumed my past 72 hours. For those who didn't, a sampling:

5:37 AM—Still shackled to the editing bay through hour 15, I realize that, in order to have broken records in the credit sequence of my movie, I have to, you know, break some records.

5:52 AM—Back at my dorm, so as not to disturb my roommate / floormates, I take records one by one into the elevator & attempt to break them.

6:38 AM—I seriously question my decision to become a film major—& feel, on many levels, like a broken record.

8:52 AM—TRIUMPH, GLORIOUS & SWEET. & with just enough time to snag some breakfast before the screening...

All of this is to say: I made a movie, & it exists, because I made it, & thank God. Without further ado—mostly because my brain currently has the consistency of a deep fried Oreo, but extra mostly because, surprise, I still have 4 short essays to write before sunset—I give you my bizarre lil' explosion of an opus, Fuckhead:

Today's Headphone Fodder:

Because every finals season needs a good playlist—some old, some new, some borrowed, more than a few blue (I may or may not have developed a penchant for instrumental covers of Pixies songs—sorry, not sorry).

Highlights include: said instrumental covers, Garbage's new track, two killer songs by San Francisco bands (Full Moon Partisans & The Abi Yo-yo's)—one of which is a link to a download!—& a tune off M. Ward's latest album that is, without a doubt, the most danceably adorable two minutes you'll hear all day.

My Name is:

Jukebox graduate. Post-collegiate. Recovering anemophobic, fresh off the boat with a dance belt & a tube of chapstick. An alligator, a mama-papa comin' for you. Unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death—or, you know, between old West Wing episodes & showertime Ramones renditions. Turn-ons: Poe stories, sparkly things; turn-offs: self-proclaimed audiophiles, Twitter. Lifelong ambition: to write a book for the 33 1/3 Series—&/or marry Eddie Izzard.
In someone else's words: "I am a confused musician who got sidetracked into this goddamn Word business for so long that I never got back to music—except maybe when I find myself oddly alone in a quiet room with only a typewriter to strum on and a yen to write a song. Who knows why? Maybe I just feel like singing—so I type. These quick electric keys are my Instrument, my harp, my RCA glass-tube microphone, and my fine soprano saxophone all at once. That is my music, for good or ill, and on some nights it will make me feel like a god."